Forgiveness, can you imagine?
by moose-girl6
Summary: All that hurt and pain and it just made him kind or five times Edmund forgave and one time he was forgiven


**All that pain and grief and it just made him kind**

or

 _The five times Edmund forgave and the one time he was forgiven_

 **i**

Edmund could feel eyes boring into the back of his head, dark angry eyes holding close pain and upset, refusing to move on from the earlier skirmish.

He stared straight ahead, letting his throbbing fist and aching jaw remind him of why retaliating was a bad idea. He hadn't meant to hit Theodore Crump, especially not in front of the whole year in the middle of a school-yard fight, but Crump had been picking on a smaller boy, some first year who didn't know any better, and nobody else had done anything.

Edmund had been on the receiving end of Crump's bullying before and there was a small part of him that was entirely made up of rage that was directed at the boy, waiting for an opportunity. All those times he spat in Edmund's food, tripped him in the corridor, or mocked him in class. They all swirled around inside him pushing darker thoughts to the top.

But it hadn't been anger that had driven Edmund to punch Crump. No, he had learnt to control that Pandora's box some time ago now.

It was the look in the smaller boy's eyes as he glanced at the crowd forming around the fight. The desperation in them, and the pity that welled in Edmund was what led to him to grab Crump by the collar and knocking him down with a fist stronger than that of a thirteen year old.

For a second the justice of a king settled upon that boy in the schoolyard and Edmund felt a sense of contentment that had less to do with finally hitting a bully and more to do with the re-establishment of natural justice.

And then one of Crump's cronies socked him in the jaw and he met the hard floor too.

It was only with the whistle that the beating stopped, but Edmund didn't mind. The first year was nowhere to be seen when the Master lined the culprits up against a wall.

"Detention." the hard voice sentenced, eliciting groans from the other boys.

Edmund just nodded.

Crump's friend, the one who had hit Edmund, was already engaged with another teacher in punishment for previous crimes, and so it was just the two of them sitting in the classroom, three row apart, facing the blackboard. Even when Mr. Donald stepped out for a moment neither one made a sound.

Then Edmund hear Crump scoff.

"I bet you thought you got out of it." His voice was low enough that if he tried, Edmund could pretend like he couldn't hear him.

He didn't.

He turned slowly and calmly let his gaze meet Crump's.

He watched as he snarled at him, curling his fist in a threatening manner. Edmund just nodded at him.

He had faced bigger bullies.

And really, was Crump so different? Wasn't he just like those dwarves who fought with the White Witch? Scared for themselves, the terror of losing sitting just behind all that hatred and lust for power. Just like the Telmarines that he had helped Caspian overcome. Men who have been told who to hate, unaware of existence without fear and violence.

Crump was just another man with an issue and a way of dealing with things that nobody had told him was wrong yet.

Edmund sighed and turned back around.

"You know you don't have to be so horrid, don't you? You don't have to hit a child to be strong."

Crump frowned harder for a second, and then when he couldn't dig himself out of his confusion he strengthened his snarl.

"What did you say to me?"

"I said what you needed to hear. That hitting children, hitting anyone without righteous cause, is weak and ignoble."

"Ig-ig- what?" confusion made Crump angrier and it looked like he might leap out of his seat at any second.

"Ignoble. It means dishonourable, or shameful, or immoral. An ignoble man is a man who is not noble. A man who hides his fear behind violence."

Crump's nostrils flared, but he didn't say anything.

"But you don't have to be."

Edmund had turned around fully, and was staring at the other boy, who looked so angry that Edmund was sure he was about to break something.

"Just because you act a certain way now, for reasons that matter you to at this moment in time, it doesn't mean that you are a dishonourable person or that you are not capable of being better. I understand. You are not the only person in this room who has acted in ways a better man would be ashamed of." Even in his shame, Edmund didn't look away. "But I saw what I was and in looking for forgiveness, found it. And now I see those times differently. I _am_ different. And if that's what you need," he continued, standing and taking a step towards Crump. Crump pulled back as though he thought Edmund might hit him. "I forgive you."

Edmund held out his hand.

Crump stared at it. His confusion seemed to have smothered his anger. There was no trace of it left, but Edmund thought that the water in his eyes might be something entirely different.

He took his hand.

When Mr. Donald came back a few minutes later he found the two boys were sitting next to each other, having decided to sit together at lunch tomorrow. At least with Edmund watching, Mr. Donald thought, with those wise old eyes looking on, Crump wouldn't try to hit anyone.

 **ii**

The sky was dark and Edmund couldn't help but like it. The oncoming rain out the window behind him made his anger even more impressive than it needed to be. Not that he was ever good at being angry.

So often in meetings had he needed to mellow Peter's rage that he wasn't used to his own, and hadn't learnt how to use it to his advantage. Peter was effective in his fury, directing it where it needed to go and always sure that someone would be around to stop him going too far.

But Edmund, when he got angry he would shut himself away. Not even his siblings had seen him very angry for a long time. He knew where it got him, he knew the bitterness that stemmed from it.

But now, well. There was righteousness behind it.

But there was also a figure cowering before him. A young boy, not far from Edmund's age when he had first entered Narnia. A dwarf with big blue eyes who had made a mistake.

Wrath sat in the pit of his stomach, waiting to be unleashed, waiting to aid in the clean-up of this.

The boy had lost some notes. A little thing, nothing to worry about normally. But these notes, the words written by the hand of a king and the content whispered in confidence, these notes had been sent to be burnt. They were not meant for anyone eyes' let alone the potential enemies who lay in wait.

But because of this boy, because he had not wanted to go all the way down to the basement to burn these notes and had instead simply pushed them into a bin, meaning that the Telmarines, those great enemies down the way, might already know about the prophecy of Calor, and as much as Lucy had pleaded for the boy, Edmund knew there was no choice. Punishment was owed.

And yet, something whispered in the back of his mind. There weren't many dwarves working in the palace. The war against the White Witch had been years ago, but there still held some animosity there amongst some families, and there still were not as many dwarves working alongside the kings and queens as there were of other folk.

Edmund sighed.

He supposed this was the weight of forgiveness. Not on the boy, but on him. Any repercussions would be his responsibility and there were few eventualities which were not at least somewhat upsetting.

And yet the culprit in front of him was nothing more than a boy who made a mistake.

"You may go." Where his certainty waivered, his voice held steady.

The boy squeaked before bowing quickly and running out of the room.

Edmund turned to the storm and sighed. Everyone made mistakes.

 **iii**

The house just wasn't big enough. Not with all of them there.

Edmund had tried three times now to escape his cousin, and each time Eustace had found him.

This time he surely wouldn't. Edmund was sat in the garden behind the shed, in amongst the brambles and weeds. Lucy had gone out with Aunt Alberta, but Eustace had said that he would be staying home, and so Alberta had suggested Edmund stay with him, and perhaps the two of them could tidy the front room a little bit. Eustace had smiled at his mother but the moment the door closed behind her he had demanded Edmund do the tidying. Edmund had laughed and turned away. There was nothing but Eustace's books all across the carpet, and damned if Edmund was going to clean that up. Not if Eustace wasn't going to help.

And so he was hiding. Behind the shed. Like a child.

In all fairness, Eustace had been a nightmare from the moment they had gotten there, and Edmund, frankly, was sick of it.

He knew he was supposed to be a gracious king, even in this world, but even kings had relatives they couldn't stand. The only difference was that in this world Edmund didn't have the power to have Eustace shipped off to a different continent.

And so he was hiding in the long grass, staring at nothing and hating his cousin.

Edmund's resentment brewed itself in the pit of his stomach. He had left his book on his nightstand, but he couldn't go and fetch it without Eustace cornering him. But he couldn't sit here and stare at a fence all afternoon. But Eustace was still a little twit who would make Edmund do his chores for him so, yes, he could.

The flowers in the bed round here were brightly coloured and certainly what was tickling Edmund's nose. His head felt hot too, although how the sun was managing to push its way through Aunt Alberta's manicured trees, Edmund wasn't sure. She really did like everything to be just so.

He sighed.

Eustace was a child who had been given his way for too long, but Aunt Alberta was kind in taking her niece and nephew in. Regardless of what she had produced, _she_ at least wasn't deserving of the bitterness that sat on Edmund's tongue.

If anyone were to ask right then, Edmund would have said that his cheeks were red from the sun and his shoulders drooped to hide himself from his cousin, but the very idea of upsetting his aunt seemed to be pressing Edmund down into the earth like a bud planted and waiting to bloom.

Eustace was nowhere to be seen when Edmund pushed the door to the front room open, and Edmund made sure he was gone by the time the younger boy thundered back downstairs, but when the key scraped in the lock and the shopping was brought into the kitchen the front room was spotless.

 **iv**

Eustace Scrubb was the most useless waste of space anyone had ever seen.

Life on board the ship had had more than enough work to keep them all busy, but Eustace had not lifted a finger.

Well, that wasn't strictly true. He had lifted his fingers enough to slip them into the barrel of apples, and to pull himself up into a hammock below deck. Anything to avoid doing anything that could be called 'work'.

But now, he had gotten himself lost.

Lucy was worried. She twisted her sleeve in her hand as she stared up at the island cliffs, squinting against the morning sunshine.  
They were very nearly ready to leave the island. All that was left was working out how to keep everyone fed.  
Eustace hadn't been overly helpful in these discussions. Of course, being a reptile was a good excuse for missing a meeting, but Edmund rather thought that he might have done a bit of hunting or offered to carry supplies over to the Dawn Treader.

But no, instead he had gone and disappeared.

"It'll be alright, Luce," Edmund put a hand on his sister's shoulder, "He'll turn up. He's not hard to miss, after all."

"I just wish he wouldn't wander off."

"Uncle Harold and Aunt Alberta believe in tolerance, so they probably won't mind that Eustace's transition all that much." Edmund grinned at his sister, continuing quickly when her nose wrinkled, "but I suppose if you throw in the word 'missing' they might worry a little." He shrugged and pulled a face at his sister, hoping to lighten the weight on her brow.

"This is serious Ed," Lucy tried to sound serious, but Edmund was good at cheering her. Her lips twitched as she tried to frown again, "what if he doesn't come back?"

Far too similar was this scene to the one a week earlier when they stood huddled on the beach, cursing Edmund for wandering off exploring on this brand new island. Then they had sent out search parties and worried, but found him eventually, albeit in an altered situation.

The moment of realisation, the look Edmund had shared with Lucy as they stood before dragon, weeping and pathetic, had been less distressing than this.

Knowing your cousin is a dragon is bearable so long as you know where he is. Then there is hope that he could be turned back into a boy. But knowing your cousin is a dragon and being led to believe that he has found a nice cave and will never return causes more than a little upset. Not unlike Eustace himself.

Although, Edmund was willing to acknowledge, Eustace's character had been rather improved by being a dragon. They all found him more likable, and far easier to be around. The warm belly he offered up on cold nights contributed to that considerably.  
But Edmund had noticed, and Reepicheep had told him, of how Eustace the Dragon would drop his head and sink low in the sand when the others weren't around.

Perhaps this disappearing was another part of that. Perhaps he had noticed the many meetings and creased brows as they considered this burden they now had to bear, this dragon.

Edmund stepped closer to Lucy and wrapped his arm around her, but before his words of comfort could even form in his mind there were shouts further along the beach.

"Edmund, I think it's-"

"Eustace!"

They ran, pushing to the front of the crowd and grabbing at their cousin. Lucy hugged him very tightly, and Edmund patted his shoulder several times.

"Eustace, you're a boy again!" Lucy beamed at him, and he blinked back.

"Yes, I think I am."

They watched as Eustace started to smile and meet their eyes, stuttering to explain. He looked just like himself before, but also very different. Like a dog after a good bath.

Edmund had forgiven his cousin for being a twit, technically, after saying to himself that he _must_ forgive several times and making a concentrated effort to be nice to the twit, but saying something to yourself and doing it are two entirely different beasts.

They listened to the words that spilled from him with understanding. The glow in Eustace's face was unmistakable. He had seen Aslan, and now he was beginning to be different. Obviously he was no longer a dragon, but it was more than that. Apologies slipped from his cousin's lips faster than he thought possible.

"I'm sorry, Edmund. I must have been a right nuisance, I see that now. It just took being a dragon to understand what that meant." He looked down at his feet, scuffing a dip in the sand, "I must have been pretty beastly."

"It's alright. You were only an ass, I was a traitor."

Eustace looked up and the stern set of his features were like a breath in Edmund's face. He really was different.

"Yes, I think- I think I will be better. Or at least I will try."

Edmund thought he had forgiven Eustace when he saw the sorry state he had gotten himself into, turned into a mighty beast who was just lying there and crying. He thought he had forgiven him when he settled on the sand and let them tuck in near his fire-filled belly to sleep. He thought he had forgiven him when he made Lucy laugh by tickling Reepicheep with his tail. But it wasn't until he saw Eustace the boy, dressed in clothes too fine for him, with a look on his face that Edmund knew all too well.

"Who is the lion? Do you know him?"

The question gave him pause. He longed to say yes, but all his thoughts of Aslan, all that he knew of him did not quite gather to be good enough to say yes. "He knows me."

And Edmund could see from the way Eustace frowned, his brow wrinkling and lips turning up, that his cousin understood what that meant.

 **v**

It was late March and the weather still hadn't turned. Edmund frowned against the wind, as though his bad mood could blow the cold away. His fingers stung from inside his pockets. The letter tucked inside his coat had barely warmed since he had slipped it in there half an hour ago.  
Peter's words surely would be thrilling, and the others would send her regards, but Edmund was alone that Monday as he stepped into the park. Edmund's fellow park-wanderers barely noticed him, squinting against the low sun and moving towards home as evening fell.

Edmund found a bench for himself and pulled the letter out from his coat. Peter's handwriting had not improved, so it was the usual struggle to even work out which words the lines were supposed to be forming.

" _Dear Edmund,_

 _I hope you're keeping well. I heard from the Lucy that you've been all nose to the grindstone lately. It's good to hear you're working hard, but don't work too hard; it's not the end of the world if you can't beat my finals score. I'm sure I could hardly beat it now, not with my head full of the professor's logic puzzles.  
I'm due to go back to him at the end of the summer, but thought I might stop off and see Susan in London first. Do you think you could find a day when you're not hiding away in the library? I think it would do her some good to see someone other than those city friends of her. I mentioned when we last spoke how hard you've been working at school with finals and all, and she wanted me to include a list of advice about resting well and enjoying your youth, but I won't bore you with it. She sends her love is the gist._

 _Something else of interest came up when I spoke with Lucy last – Eustace went to Narnia again! Luce wasn't sure exactly what happened, so I wrote to Eustace to hear it from him and the letter I got back was remarkable. We really ought to get the Friends together again soon so we can all hear it. I've already written back to Eustace to see when would suit him. And - oh! There's a new addition to the group – a school-friend of Eustace, Jill, who went with him. Lucy says she's marvellous, but then Lucy isn't likely to say much else about someone with news of Aslan. But that will mean another person to factor in when arranging our next meeting, so I shall have to correspond with Aunt Polly. I'll let you know when it's set._

 _Some other news that may interest you – Sue has a job. I suppose it is a good thing, after how long she has been hoping for one, but I rather thought she might end up in a shop or somewhere more civil. I'm not sure how I feel about her working every day in that office. She has told me some about her colleagues, and whilst I'm sure they_ are _perfectly lovely, I'm also sure that they would never stand to hear a word about Aslan. Around them, she seems to me to be more ridiculous than gentle. Lucy sounds as worried as I am, but neither of us are ever very good at getting through to Susan._

 _Mother and Father miss you, but of course send their best. We all look forward to seeing you at end of term. Perhaps you could ring home before then? I know you're busy, Ed, but I thought that even Cambridge had telephones these days, it's not too far of a stretch!_

 _Chin up,  
Peter_

It was good to hear from Peter. It was. And to hear that Eustace had been back to Narnia, well, that left the taste of something delightful in Edmund's mouth. The thought of the letter, however, set a funny weight on his shoulders. He wasn't sure whether it was the news of Susan turning even further away, or of the knowledge that he hadn't spoken to his brother since Christmas and this was the news he was offered.

He thought back to Christmas, the six of them in the same house. For Edmund, Christmas smelt of gingerbread. His mother would take an afternoon to bake where the house would fill with the smell of ginger and cinnamon. It would invariably drag the four children into the front room where they would all pretend that they weren't gathering just for the first offerings from the oven.

Edmund thought of his sister in London, how she had been at Christmas. She had perched on the sofa with a magazine, chatting happily with them, but refusing to join in any of the games. Time and again Peter's face had tinged red and his jaw had clenched, his patience rubbing away. But they were old hands at managing each other's moods by now and Edmund and Lucy would bring the balance back, with jokes and questions and more than once with a large sniff in the direction of the kitchen.

He thought of his parents, how they looked at times, just as worried about Susan going off in her own direction as Peter was. Edmund frowned and rubbed a cold hand over his face. They were all going off on their own really. Lucy was as full of ideas as ever and nearly of an age where nobody could stop her from following them through, and Peter was ever his own man. Edmund thought of their mother rolling dough out in the kitchen, smiling at him through the door as though her children were still small creatures excited for presents. But they weren't. And it seemed that with every letter they had less and less need of each other.

The sunset was unremarkable behind the trees. Blue fading to orange and then to nothing. The street lamps were on before Edmund noticed the dark, so engrossed was he in reading and re-reading Peter's letter, sinking into thoughts of useful and not.  
The torch above his head finally caught his attention when the light it was casting on him flickered. He turned his face towards it and had to pause and catch his breath. Surely this was the iron tree in the forest near to the land of War Drobe, just beyond Spar Oom. In his mind he could see a stag and feel the fur of a winter coat, the touch of whiskers on his cheek.

He blinked and it was just a lamp-post again.

Edmund ran his fingers over the embroidery on his handkerchief once he had cleared his eyes.

He laughed to himself, staring down at Peter's letter. How had he been so perturbed just minutes ago? So angry at this, at how little Peter needed him, at how his brother and sisters had changed. But how different could they be when their crowns still fit their brows? Once and so always. Like gingerbread dough beneath their mother's fingers, they would grow, stretch and become something other. But a biscuit is still made of flour.

Edmund closed his eyes and took a moment of silence. He thought of Peter, tried to remember what he looked like when he was older, whether there were the same lines on his forehead and the same worry in his words. There weren't for Susan. Not now. She had grown into worry in Narnia, and concern had rested on her as often as Edmund's sword had done on his belt. Perhaps that was why she looked so willingly elsewhere for security now.  
Edmund sighed and stood up. It was too cold and too dark to be sitting and wallowing. A letter was just a letter, and Peter would always be Peter. And needed or not, Edmund was a Pevensie, just as capable as the rest. He turned back to the lamp-post and let it set the certainty in him.  
Once and so always.

 **i**

He hadn't known that a good thing could hurt.

Not when the Turkish delight had turned to a life sentence, not when the snow had turned out to be eternal, not even when he had gotten rid of that dratted coat only to feel the chill. Those had all been painful, and they had definitely been bad. Surely good was the opposite of those.

But now, staring up at Aslan, looking into those eyes so full of shame, Edmund knew.

"It is all forgotten."

The lion breathed the words out but Edmund felt them rumble through him, shaking him like an earthquake. They struck him like a blow from a fist, hurting, even though they were good.

The weight on his shoulders lifted, but the one in his heart sat solidly. The grief in Aslan's great eyes bore into him, squeezing tears from his eyes, setting something in him, a piece of knowledge and a decision all in one.

Never again would someone look at him like that.

Forgiveness hurt him because it brought to light everything he had done, everything that meant he should not be forgiven. The list was longer than Edmund could think of in that moment, but he knew it warranted more than a few uncomfortable days and the temporary estrangement of his family.

But the lion said he was forgiven, and it was so.

It didn't mean his family would forget, it didn't mean that the people here would, and it certainly didn't mean Edmund could, but he felt that none of that mattered. Edmund had spent the time since he left his family terrified of what he had done, appalled and ashamed, unable to even try to reach for forgiveness. He looked inwards and saw nothing but blackness.

But Aslan had spoken and now he was returned.

His family held him like nothing had happened, and after that great moment of redemption Aslan looked at him as he did the others. Edmund didn't understand, but the lion had spoken, and clearly he had done something that Edmund couldn't.

When the girls brought the news that Aslan was dead, he knew who it was for, and when he saw Aslan alive again he almost wasn't surprised.

He had known, somehow that Aslan would make it okay.

The Lion had spoken and that was enough.


End file.
